Something Found
by PierDreams
Summary: [sometimes you have to lose something to find what you're looking for. and sometimes what seems like the end is really the beginning]...rated M for language, violence, gore, and sex. (Fletcherie)
1. TS Eliot

Stephanie sat by herself at the school cafeteria table, trying to drown out the roar of lunchtime students in the small book of T.S. Eliot poems she clutched in her hands. She smoothed her finger along one of the well-loved, tattered pages, and turned it over.

Crossing her legs, Stephanie took a moment to look around. The general hubbub of the hundreds of other high schoolers was mind-numbing, but typical. Somewhere to her left, a loud group of heavily made-up girls and rugby jocks squalled endlessly.

She sighed and returned to her poems, nibbling on an apple from her bag.

A few minutes later, a bump alerted her to someone's arrival. From her peripheral vision, Stephanie could tell it was a blonde-haired guy. He had seated himself right next to her, but it was unlikely that he was here to talk to her anyways, so she pretended not to notice.

"Hey!" he said brightly.

Stephanie looked up.

The boy was actually really attractive. Attractive to the point where it was difficult to stay focused. Still, she had no idea who he was, not to mention he was infringing on her space. "Hi..." she replied warily. "Do know you?"

"I'm Fletcher. We have fourth period eco together."

"Do we?" She would have noticed him if they did.

"Nope."

"Um. Ok." But she did have fourth period economics, so that was sort of weird.

"Sorry, I'm being really creepy, aren't I?" Fletcher sighed and ran a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"Can we just start over?"

By this point, Stephanie didn't know what to think any more, so she just nodded.

He blinked a few times, seeming to compose himself, and then beamed so brightly that Stephanie found herself slightly disoriented.

"Hi, I'm Fletcher. What's your name?"

Stephanie grinned, bewildered at his sudden change. "Stephanie."

"Nice to meet you, Stephanie. How are you doing on this lovely spring day?"

She couldn't help it: she threw her head back and laughed. Fletcher joined her.

"Sorry," she giggled, "that seemed a little out of place, considering it's autumn."

He shrugged. "Spring is just more poetic to me somehow."

Stephanie opened her mouth to reply, but the harsh shriek of the bell signalling the end of lunch cut her off. Everyone around them got up and began the daily hustle to class, but Stephanie and Fletcher fought against the tide of people, hanging back at their table. As she pulled her bag across her chest, slipping her apple and poems book into the satchel, Fletcher's intense gaze caught hers.

"Speaking of poetry, 'What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from'," he said, so softly the words were meant only for her.

Her breath hitched in her chest. For a second, the shutters behind his eyes had seemed to open, allowing her a glimpse of a deeper personality than what appeared on the surface.

"TS Eliot," he smiled, and with that his eyes did a little flip from ocean- to ice-blue. Then he pulled her close into a quick hug before she could react.

"Nice to meet you, Stephanie. See you around, then." Fletcher smiled once more, then was swept away with the rest of the mob, leaving her to blush and brush at her hair as she moved off to class with the rest.


	2. To Know You

Of course she was late. Second day of school and here she was, caught in the traffic that she should have missed by leaving twenty minutes ago. All around her, central London office-goers were sitting in their cars, bleary-eyed and not one bit concerned about her predicament.

Stephanie sighed and took one hand off the wheel to apply mascara.

A few minutes later, she finally moved into the roundabout and broke out of the traffic. As she arrived at school, she parked hurriedly, sprinted across the lot, and slipped into class just as first period bell rang. The calculus teacher shot her a warning glance, but Stephanie just tucked her head down and strode quickly to her seat.

As the teacher began the lesson, she pulled out her notebook and glasses and tried to take notes. However, the whispering of the other students, the droning of the teacher, and the way that the man stood in front of everything he scratched out on the board soon made it impossible. Instead, Stephanie slid her calculus textbook from her bag, noted the homework problems, and began working. Once she finished, she glanced up at the clock. Still ten minutes of class. She readjusted her glasses on her nose and looked hopefully back at the clock, but nothing had changed.

Stephanie sighed.

On the next free page in her notebook, she began doodling, sketching the clock, the bald patch on the back of Mr. Fraser's head, the logo on the shirt of the girl in front of her. Soon, her doodles changed from pictures to words.

_He is_  
_An enigma - _  
_And still _  
_Exteriors lie_  
_To_  
_Me._  
_Who are you, _  
_O silently expressive,_  
_O publicly hidden _  
_O –_

The bell rang. Stephanie jumped. She slammed her notebook shut, pushed everything into her satchel and stood up to go.

"Miss Argott."

Inwardly, Stephanie sighed, and reluctantly turned back to the teacher's desk. "Sir?"

"How are you settling in?"

"Fine, sir."

"No problems?"

"No, sir."

"Alright, then. Have a nice day."

She smiled wanly, then turned and left. As she walked briskly to her next period, she unhappily mulled over the situation. New school, new people. Really, they were all the same. Nobody seemed to change, no matter where you were in the world.

Except for Fletcher. Stephanie didn't know his last name, let alone hardly anything about him, but he had somehow already made it into her poetry, one of the most private things about her.  
She shook her head to clear it, and glanced down at the schedule she clutched in her hands before turning left down a side corridor. Stephanie took another left, entered the door to her English classroom, and froze.

Sitting in the back of the room was Fletcher. His posture was studiously poor as he reclined in the plastic seat, one headphone dangling from his right ear. As if he knew she was there, Fletcher glanced up. Immediately his whole face lit up and he patted the seat next to him.

Stephanie found herself making her way between desks towards him, smiling eagerly. She set her stuff on the desk and sat down sideways on her chair, facing Fletcher.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he returned warmly. "How are you?"

Stephanie felt a glow from the normality of the whole conversation. "I'm well. What are you doing here?"

Fletcher grinned conspiratorially and tapped the side of his nose.

She tilted her head and waited.

"Call me a stalker." His face bunched up into a cute smile, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Ok, stalker. What?"

"I specifically asked the principal for a replacement schedule." He smirked a little and settled back into his seat.

Stephanie noticed a schedule tucked beneath his phone on his desk and grabbed it. As she studied it, a disbelieving grin began to grow on her face. "No you didn't. No way!"

Fletcher laughed, burying his face in his hands at her look. His shoulders shook silently.

"Seriously?"

Their schedules were now precisely the same.

Stephanie burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. "I can't believe you," she exclaimed, landing a soft punch on Fletcher's shoulder.

He pretended to fall off his chair, and she snorted at his antics. Around them, the other students who had just come in looked on, a few visibly shaking their heads. Normally, Stephanie would have been mortified, but something about Fletcher made it okay. As he finally recovered and sat up again, a sprawling mass of slim limbs, Stephanie shot him a smile. The other kids around them began taking their seats at the teacher's insistence, filling the spaces around Stephanie and Fletcher like they belonged.

As the teacher started the lesson, they reluctantly broke off their conversation and turned to face forward.

Something nudged at her elbow; she turned to see Fletcher pushing a folded piece of paper at her.

She unfolded it. _So what do you think: skiing or snowboarding?_

Stephanie had to stifle a laugh. She glanced sidelong at Fletcher, and he raised his eyebrows without looking at her. Smiling, she wrote, _Skiing, the obvious choice,_ and pushed the paper back. _Guessed that,_ he replied, _but really?_

Stephanie grinned and took off her glasses, laying them on the faux wood table. She obviously wasn't going to be needing to see the front of the room for a while as they continued passing notes.

Fletcher slid the paper back to her desk with his pen. _Like your specs, btw._ She looked over curiously and had to stifle an incredulous laugh. Fletcher was looking back at her, wearing her glasses and pulling a smoldering face. He wiggled his eyebrows and the black frames slid down his nose. She collapsed into a fit of giggles.

The teacher whirled and tapped her chalk loudly on the board, eyes scrutinizing the room. Stephanie froze, deer-in-headlights look fully engaged. Beside her, Fletcher studied his fingernails conspicuously.

As the teacher opened her mouth to snap, the bell rang.

Stephanie and Fletcher jumped up, grabbing their stuff and running from the room, laughing uncontrollably. Together, they sprinted down the hall. As they finally slowed, Stephanie panted, "Saved by the bell!" Fletcher's eyes glowed happily as he passed her glasses back.

Through the rest of the day, they kept up a continuous conversation, discussing the strangest topics. _I want to get to know you,_ he had written when she had asked why.

After seventh period ended, Fletcher had insisted on walking her out to her car. As they strolled across the painted tarmac, idly chatting, he suddenly changed the subject.

"So, let's review everything I've learned about you."

The quick turnabout caught Stephanie unawares.

"Don't look so scared," he grinned.

She looked down and scuffed one foot across the ground to hide her blush.

"One: Your favorite color is grey, like mourning doves and soft sweaters and your jeans. Two: You only like to write with Pentel 0.5 blue gel pens. Three: You don't abbreviate. Four: You wear Sephora mascara. Five: The top of your nose wrinkles when you laugh."

Stephanie looked up at him. Fletcher was watching her with one of his rare serious looks. She felt almost uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.

"Oh, and also, you drive a minivan."

Stephanie gasped in mock outrage. "I most certainly do not."

"Mhm?"

"Subaru Outback, I swears!"

He grinned and flashed a set of keys at her. "I'm dangerous. You'd better watch out."

Stephanie narrowed her eyes. "Are those my keys?"

He bowed, and with a flourish, pressed the unlock button. Across the parking lot, her car beeped, and he took off running towards it.

Shocked but highly amused, Stephanie sprinted after him, satchel bouncing on her hip. As she caught up, Fletcher opened the door, bundled her in, and pressed the keys into her hand, and slammed the door after her.

Inside, she leaned her head against the glass and laughed until she felt dizzy. Fletcher tapped on the window, and gasping, she rolled it down.

He hunkered down, resting his forearms on her car, until he was at eye level with her.

"Do you intend to keep me in stitches all the time?" grinned Stephanie.

Fletcher tilted his head mysteriously and passed her a folded sticky note. "Happy-second-day-of-knowing-each-other gift." For a brief second, his eyes looked unfathomably sad, but he recovered before she could react. "Now go, you sexy thing!" He smacked the car door.

She cracked up, starting the engine and pulling out into the lot.

Fletcher waved at her through the rearview mirror. "Bye, Steph!"

The familiar shortening of her name sent a little surprised tremor through her. "Bye, Fletch!" she returned, smiling.

Later on, in her room at home, she opened the little scrap of yellow paper. In pencil, Fletcher had written, _Call me!_ and his number. At the bottom was a smiley face.

Stephanie grinned and snatched her phone off the bed.

* * *

**_So this is a new thing for me... I don't own Stephanie or Fletcher but there are a few oc's that ARE mine. _**

**_Enjoy!_**


	3. Statistical Anomaly

_Thanks to **Illiterate Cookie **and the lovely **NightcatMau **for reviewing!_

* * *

As the weeks passed, Fletcher and Stephanie grew closer and closer. They had their established seats in class, and their own routine of note-passing. They were accepted as a statistical anomaly in the school society, and generally went unbothered.

_Senior year was a good place to be here,_ Stephanie mused as economics, the class before lunch, ended – again another blow off where they had free reign to do whatever. Typically they ended up with chairs leaned back, feet up on the tables, whispering quietly.

Now she followed Fletcher out into the hallway and the crush of people. As they entered the traffic, he whipped a glance back at her, and as it seemed that they might get separated, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

Stephanie's heart lurched. Fletcher towed her through the crowd to their lunch table, and the entire time, she was intensely aware of the warm feel of his hand around hers. As they emerged, she quipped, "We survived!"

Fletcher laughed and guided her to their seats, not letting go of her yet. When he finally released her hand, making her chuckle about something else, her fingers felt suddenly cold.

As they ate together, Fletcher flipped through her well-loved copy of poems, reading out selections to her. As he read about the wind combing back the hair of the waves, Stephanie smiled and pulled out her calculus notebook and started on the assignment for the night. Fletcher followed suit, copying the problems to work from her textbook onto his own paper. As she began working, Stephanie could feel his eyes on her, but she chose not to look up, very much like the first time they met. Apparently he remembered too, because she heard his soft chuckle.

Like he sometimes did, Fletcher began playing with her hair as she worked. Stephanie smiled as she felt him trying out the types of braids she'd taught him in the past few weeks. Obligingly, she sat sideways and let him braid. As he started a French plait down her back, she smiled to herself. The feel of his fingers sliding through her hair quickly had her distracted, and she began to note other things, like the light touch of his knees on either side of her hips, and the slight smell of his cologne and the way that her body seemed magnetically drawn to him.

Stephanie sighed. _That wouldn't work out anyways._

"Everything okay?" asked Fletcher from behind her.

"I'm so bored of calculus," she grumbled, snatching the nearest plausible excuse. He laughed lightly, tying off the braid, and Stephanie deposited her books and turned to look at him.

"What's your favorite color, Fletch?" she asked suddenly.

"Uh, white." He plucked at the sleeve of her white Mylo Xyloto shirt. "Why?"

"I want to know more about you. I haven't even thought about it but we don't have the same conversations about you as we do about me."

He smiled softly. "I bet you actually do know more than you think. Try five."

She took a breath. "Your favorite color is-"

"Cheating!" he laughed. She pulled a face and he pulled one back.

"Ok," Stephanie started slowly. "You can only raise your left eyebrow individually. When you draw smiley faces, you always draw a circle around them counter-clockwise."

Fletcher smiled a little, thinking about it.

"Your favorite band is The Arctic Monkeys even though you don't own any merchandise – you're always listening to them. When you're thinking, you tap your chin with your pencil. And when you think I'm not looking in class, you draw me."

At the last fact, Fletcher blushed a little but didn't look away. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out to her.

The bell rang out through the tension between them. Fletcher jumped up to help her sweep her things into the brown canvas satchel, which he held out to her. She slipped it over her shoulder, passed him his notebook, and together they stood up to go.

"That was like we choreographed it," laughed Stephanie.

Fletcher wiggled his eyebrows and bowed, proffering his hand. She cracked up, covering her mouth with her hand but eagerly grabbing Fletcher's. He spun her so fast she felt dizzy, and they broke apart grinning.

As they started towards fifth period, a group of about six cheerleaders broke away from the general mob and headed for them.

Stephanie shot a look at Fletcher. He returned it, just as perplexed as she was. They came to a halt, facing off against the group. Stephanie felt distinctly uneasy, even with Fletcher close by her side.

"Hey," she managed, wincing as her Irish accent jarred against her British surroundings.

The cheerleader in the front stepped up a bit. "Hi."

The bows in the brown ponytails around her bobbed furiously.

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, well we were just wondering...how long you two have been dating?"

The blood rushed to Valkyrie's cheeks. "Oh, we're not -"

Fletcher's arms were suddenly around her, and he gently dipped her into a kiss.

Shock flooded her limbs as his warm lips touched hers, and an army of tingles stitched its way down her spine. _Fletcher Renn is kissing you._

Titters and 'aww's' rose from the crowd with a fair amount of applause from around as Fletcher sat her back on her feet.

"You guys are the cutest couple around here," called one of the girls as they skipped away.

"You okay?" whispered Fletcher in Stephanie's ear. His arm snaked around her back, holding her up.

She laughed shakily. "My legs are a little unstable."

God, but he smelled so good. His palm moved in small circles around her spine.

"Was that okay?"

She pulled away to look into his earnest face.

"Mhm," she smiled, and he smiled back. Then they burst out laughing.

She glanced up at the clock and exhaled sharply. "We're late!"

Fletcher cracked up, but reached for her hand and together they sprinted through the deserted halls towards their class.

* * *

"How was your day, Stephanie?"

Her foster mom was perched on the living room sofa, legs drawn up to her chest and two cups of Darjeeling steaming on the coffee table. In other words, it was Foster Unit Interaction Hour.

Stephanie sighed. She really wanted to run to her room and call Fletcher, but duty called, so she dumped her bag in the corner and made her way over. Becky Argott was fifty-two, but with her petite build and stylish dress sense, she looked much younger. Her and her husband, Tom, had made it their philanthropic duty to foster children ever since they had found out about their inability to have their own kids. Stephanie was their latest in a line of seven others, and had picked up their surname partially in thanks and partially because, according to the orphanage, she didn't have her own._ Stephanie Null._

"How's it going?" Becky asked, waving a hand at the mugs of tea to indicate she take one. Stephanie added a heaping spoonful of sugar and stirred before answering. Together, she and her foster mom chatted about the weather, Stephanie's 'stellar' grades (straight A's) and clothes. Finally, Stephanie mentioned her big news of the day: "Fletcher asked me out."

She smiled as she recalled their fingers twined together as she looked up at him from her car window, and the quick kiss they had shared.

Becky squealed and gave Stephanie a squeeze. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart!"

After another few minutes of enthusiastic celebration, Becky moved on to her other friends.

"I've got Fletcher," Stephanie replied, a little defensively.

A small pout line appeared on her foster mother's forehead. "You don't have any girlfriends?"

"Nope."

"Isn't that a little troubling, honey?"

Stephanie tried to tamp down her anger, but failed. "I'm going to go work now," she growled.

As she snatched her bag up, Becky's voice reached her. "Please just think about it."

Stephanie marched up the stairs and slammed her door.

* * *

**_Aaand now the Fletcherie starts :3 _**

**_Please review! I take suggestions and ideas any time! PM me! And I love feedback. I PROMISE ETERNAL LOVE FOR REVIEWERS (and followers/favoriters)_**

**_Sorry that was a little Caelan-y._**


	4. A Raw and Jagged Pain

"Coming over this weekend, Fletch?"

Stephanie was curled up, soaking in the rare winter sunlight that trickled through her window. She used the home phone extension in her bedroom, and was now perched in the window seat, weaving the wire through her fingers.

"The parental units are out of town," she continued, smiling at Fletcher's small snort across the line.

"I know," he returned, a smile permeating his voice. "I'm already in your driveway."

Stephanie gasped.

"See you soon, babe!" Fletcher hung up and, grinning, Stephanie launched herself down the stairs, sliding crazily on her socked feet, directly into Fletcher's arms. He greeted her with passionate kiss that lifted her off the ground.

"Happy four months, Stephanie," he whispered huskily into her ear, sending chills racing to the pit of her stomach.

Abruptly, he shifted gears, drawing out a bouquet of white roses with a smile.

"Aw, Fletcher..."

He dipped her with one arm and kissed her until she felt weak.

"...you hopeless romantic."

He grinned rakishly. "You give me hope."

Stephanie stuck her tongue out at him, then towed him up to her room.

The sun was going down, so she set about lighting the candles placed on most of the open surfaces. As she leaned across to light another wick, Fletcher murmured, "Beautiful."

Stephanie turned to look at him where he sat on her bed. "I know, it's much nicer than electric light-"

"I'm talking about you, silly."

The flickering yellow light danced across his features, making his eyes glimmer. Slowly, she made her way across the room to him and sat in his lap.

The instant she turned her face up to his and their lips met, he was moving, rolling her over him, making her dizzy and breathless yet again. Now he was on top of her, kissing her, and her body was responding so fiercely that it scared her. His lips roamed across hers as he straddled her, his taste driving her wild. As Fletcher's teeth grazed her earlobe, a moan escaped from her and her hips lifted off the mattress.

Without warning, a sharp pain erupted in her right temple, so raw and jagged that it was hard to breathe. Her body stiffened. She could barely see, barely feel.

Fletcher, above her, felt the rapid change, and his caring hands reached down to help her. In her blind panic, Stephanie pushed him away and stumbled off the bed. His voice followed her, desperate, hurting.

"Shower," she mumbled, clutching her temple, and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Stephanie tore off her clothes and hobbled to the glass doors of the shower. She spun the dial all the way to hot and rested her head against the tiled wall.

The agony in her head was transforming into a rapid beat of one word, circling endlessly: _Valkyrie. Valkyrie. Valkyrievalkyrievalkyrievalkyrie..._

* * *

"Stephanie?" Fletcher tapped on the door to the bathroom. "Steph? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to push it like that. I should've stopped, shouldn't have gone so fast. Please let me in. Let me apologize."

Inside, the shower water stopped. Fletcher's heart clenched, simultaneously hopeful and guilty.

Footsteps padded across the tiled floor to the door, and the handle turned. The white-painted door swung open.

Just inside stood Stephanie. Her soaked black hair dripped water, and she was wrapped in a white towel. Down the front of it sprawled a deep red stain.

"My nose won't...it won't stop bleeding," she gasped.

Fletcher stared in horror as, at her words, a massive clot of blood spilt from her nose, washing over her lips and down her heaving chest.

"H-help," Stephanie whispered, and collapsed forwards into his arms.

Fletcher caught her, clutched her to his chest like a baby. He skidded down the steps, crashing through the door to the driveway. He carefully laid her on her side in the back seat of his car, then leapt into the driver's seat and gunned the motor. The engine shrieked to life, and he accelerated down Stephanie's street towards the motorway.

She groaned softly in the back of the car.

"Hang on," he whispered, reaching behind him for her hand. Under his fingers, her body began to shake as coughing fits started to rack her. A smell of iron and freshly turned earth filled the car.

Panicking, Fletcher stepped on the gas. "Please, I need you," he sobbed, tears filming his eyes. "Val - oh god Val - Valkyrie Cain - stay with me - hang on -I love you!"

Alone on the M40, the silver car made a blur as it raced against time.

* * *

**It WAS cute. I'm trying to get back to that frame of mind.**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing and following. Anything helps. Just a review to let me know you saw this? xx**


	5. Misjudgements & Memories

_Again, with these two being my only reviewers to date...thank you_ **Illiterate Cookie** _and _**NightcatMau**

* * *

Stephanie groaned and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. The echo of the dream ricocheted around her skull – she was falling, flailing through the air, screaming her lungs out –

No.

She was opening her eyes to Fletcher's concerned, tired, disheveled gaze.

"Fletch," she croaked.

Tears flooded his eyes and he dropped to his knees by her bed, clasping her hands between his own.

"Hey, Stephanie," he whispered. "You had me a little worried back there."

She closed her eyes for a second and breathed in unsteadily. The plastic plug in her nostrils forced her to breathe through her mouth, and one her throat felt like the Gobi desert. "Could I have some water, please," Stephanie gasped, feeling like a child as he guided the straw between her lips.

When her thirst was sated, Fletcher sat back on his haunches and looked at her. "You almost died," he said softly. His eyes were as dark as pitch pools, even in the harsh lighting.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

For a second, it looked like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. After a long silence, he chuckled. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Hurting you." Stephanie sniffed slightly. "Putting you in a situation where we might never see each other again."

Fletcher's tortured gaze locked on hers.

"I get mild nosebleeds sometimes. Nothing like what just happened." She took a breath. "About a year ago, I was in a car crash. Both of my parents died, and I...massive brain trauma. I don't remember anything before then." Stephanie fixed her eyes on the IV that disappeared into her forearm. There were sensations from the wreck that tended to visit her in dreams: the feeling of suspension, weightlessness, a shard of glass entering her temple, the crack of her sternum as the seatbelt engaged.

Stephanie pushed the images away with a physical effort.

Fletcher gently stroked a forefinger along the white inch-long scar on her right temple. "So we...when I..."

"Blood pressure. Probably ruptured something. I still have a piece of car door in my head, so yeah."

"I'm sorry-"

"No. It wasn't your fault in any way."

"I-"

"Shh. Look, Fletch. Your hair looks wonderful." She reached a finger under his chin and pulled him in for a kiss as surprise flooded his features.

Careful and thoughtful as always, Fletcher kept the kiss short so she could breathe, but still, his nearness made her heart race. As he pulled back, they both laughed at the rapid beeping of Stephanie's heart monitor in the background.

"Why do I feel deja vu from that?" she asked a few minutes later.

"What? The pulse thing?"

"No, complementing your hair. Strange."

The look of deep sadness washed across Fletcher's features. "Dunno. Sorry, sweetheart." He glanced away.

A sharp noise at the door made them both look up.

It was Becky and Tom. Mentally, Stephanie braced herself, and then was glad that she had done so after the large affair of shrieking and sobbing and handholding. Finally, as her foster parents exited to inform the doctors of her mental state and past traumas, Fletcher peeled himself off the wall against which he had been pressed for the past thirty minutes.

"Whew," he breathed, and she giggled.

"Next time we go to have sex, maybe we should tone it down a bit."

Stephanie laughed until she cried.

Fletcher kissed her cheek, then clambered back on his chair, resting his socked feet on the bed by her knees.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she remembered what had been bothering her. "Hey, Fletch?"

"Mmm?"

"Your sleepy voice is rather sexy -" he laughed - "but anyways. While I was having that...episode...there was a name that kept circling in my mind." She focused her gaze on the impersonal white ceiling above. "Who's Valkyrie?"

There was a screech and a lurch and Fletcher's chair tilted dangerously.

"_Who?_"

"Valkyrie. You okay?"

He brushed aside the question impatiently. "Do you remember anything else? Any other names? Places?" His demeanor had suddenly gone from sleepy to utterly alert in a matter of seconds. Every muscle in his body appeared to be tensed, and he seemed to be quivering with the intensity of his focus.

"Um...no. Apologies."

Fletcher slumped back, deflated. "Ok. I just thought that you might be remembering something from before."

"Trust me, everyone's been waiting for that to happen for a year. Sorry to disappoint."

He caught the bitter note in her voice and stooped to tenderly kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to pressure you like that."

She pulled him down onto the hospital bed next to her and pillowed her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "Much better than the hospital bed," she whispered.

"Glad you have such high standards for me," he whispered back with a smile as her eyelids slipped shut and her breathing slowed.

* * *

The next morning, Stephanie was released from the hospital in a wheelchair with strict instructions to do pretty much nothing. She was permitted to go to school, under the condition that somebody else would wheel her around.

So Fletcher was employed. He took great pleasure in pushing her through the halls, yelling variations of phrases from "Wheeling a Crippled Homicidal Drug-Dealer Who Will Not Hesitate to Pummel You Through This Hole of a School" to "Make Way for My Superbly Hot Though Temporarily En-Wheeled Girlfriend or I Will Run You Over, Peasant." Stephanie spent most of the duration of these trips cracking up, beyond caring what everyone else thought of them.

He also enjoyed the elevator pass they shared as an unmissable make out opportunity, which came to be one of Stephanie's most anticipated times of the day.

Even once she was deemed well enough to walk for herself, Fletcher insisted upon carrying her bag for her.

Every afternoon, he'd walk her from her car to her house, often dropping in to chat with her foster parents, who adored him. Eventually, it was he who convinced them that Stephanie would be okay for a weekend on her own as they went on their annual wild-mushroom-gathering trip (also known as the Hopeless Hippy Holiday to Stephanie).

On the morning of their leaving, Stephanie tramped downstairs early to see them off. Becky gathered her up into a tight hug that surprised Stephanie.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

Becky smiled tearfully. "Tom and I are going to miss you." Her foster father awkwardly patted Stephanie's shoulder and wiped his eyes beneath his glasses. Stephanie laughed at their antics as Tom kissed her cheek and picked up their suitcases to carry outside.

Becky took Stephanie's shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I misjudged Fletcher. You were right all along. He's a good kid, and I know that he won't leave you." She ruffled Stephanie's hair. "My smart young woman."

Stephanie chuckled and squirmed.

"Ok, sweetheart, I'll leave now. Have a great weekend, and we'll see you Monday after school."

She gave Stephanie one last hug and headed out the door.

Just as Stephanie had turned away, she poked her head back through the door. "By the way: there's a pack of condoms on the coffee table!"

"_Becky!_"

The sound of her foster mother's cackling followed her out onto the driveway.

* * *

_**Please review/follow/favorite/PM me. Anything helps!**_


	6. A Change of Heart

**Just a reminder that this IS rated M for a reason...**

* * *

Stephanie did a little twirl in front of the mirror. The dress was light and summery and sinfully short. _But what the hell, she was feeling dangerous._ With a few licks of mascara and lip-gloss, she felt unstoppable.

A quick glance at her phone told her Fletcher would be arriving soon. Her heart rose up into her throat suddenly. What if things didn't work out as she planned? What if...

Stephanie longed to grab the nearest pair of sweats to throw on, and hide under something big and shapeless. Her fingers started to tremble.

These sudden mood swings and weird personalities had started with the accident, and had her concerned. Now was not the time to be worrying about it though, she reminded herself as she added a light mist of perfume.

Stephanie stepped back to survey her work in the mirror and smiled. She looked good. It had been a long time since she'd worn a dress - certainly not since that fateful car crash - and this now felt like the right thing to do. Practicing her seductive smile, Stephanie padded - barefoot - out into the hall and down to the living room to wait.

Through the semi-darkness of the downstairs, the lights of the stereo system winked at her. She riffled through the CDs next to it before selecting Louis Armstrong. As the first smoky, deep chords rang out, she knew the choice was right. A tingling started in her chest and ran its way down to her fingers.

The garage door opened with a squawk. Stephanie whirled, heart racing.

There he stood. Fletcher Renn, holding a bunch of wild daisies. The half light in the kitchen illuminated his open, smiling face, and his pale eyes shone.

She stepped forwards, into the light with him. It glowed pale off her bare arms, glinting in her raven hair. Stephanie saw Fletcher's eyes widen imperceptibly as they travelled down the length of her body. As he returned to her face, she raised an eyebrow and he blushed.

"I feel underdressed," he remarked. He flashed a glance back at her legs again, as if he couldn't help himself.

Stephanie smiled, eyebrow still lifted. "I actually think you're wearing entirely too much."

Fletcher's eyes shot open and his blush deepened. Stephanie laughed gleefully. She leaned in and kissed him deeply, breathing in his smell and the warmth of him. He gently broke it off. "Do you have a vase for these?" He gesticulated with the flowers.

Stephanie smiled. "You brought me flowers."

Fletcher raised his shoulders. "You deserve appreciation occasionally."

She grinned, walking towards the cupboards. "Fletch, every time I'm around you, I feel like...like prized goods. Gold. Something. I don't know." The vases were stacked on ascending shelves. Stephanie picked out one on the top shelf and rose up onto her tiptoes to reach for it. She felt the hem of her dress rising up the backs of her thighs. She could practically hear Fletch swallow.

A hand aligned at the base of her spine. "Let me get that for you," his voice murmured in her ear. She moved a bit to the side as Fletcher lifted it off the shelf. He filled it with water and she arranged the flowers in it. A strand of hair fell across her face. Before she could move, he brushed it back behind her ear. For a long moment, they stood and stared at each other.

"Care to dance, Mr. Renn?"

He twirled her. "Of course."

Louis Armstrong's deep voice washed over the two of them as Fletcher started into a formal waltz. Stephanie laughed and wriggled closer. "So formal," she murmured into his shoulder. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her hips. They swayed together for a few measures, and then Stephanie slid a hand down into his back pocket.

Fletcher's whole body stiffened against hers. She kissed his neck gently, and he relaxed slightly.

"Steph..."

"Mhm, Fletch?" Stephanie shifted so her hips pressed against his.

"I..."

She raised her head and kissed his lips. As he kissed her back, his hands moving slow circles on her back, the music murmured about how wonderful the world was.

Stephanie twisted in his arms, his lips carrying on a path over her cheekbone to the base of her neck as she pressed into him. He cradled her from behind, teeth catching on her skin and making her gasp. Stephanie ground into him, and now it was Fletcher's turn to gasp.

Spinning away and grasping his hand, she started up the stairs, pausing only to push him back against the wall and kiss him passionately.

They reached her bedroom and she pulled him in, shutting the door behind them. Stephanie turned back to face Fletcher. The look on his face as he ran his hand through his hair told her that he had realized exactly how serious she was about this.

Stephanie crossed the distance between them with a step. She reached out and undid the top button of his shirt.

He stopped her, cradling her hands in his gently. His eyes, dark and tortured, gazed into hers.  
"Steph...we can't. It's too dangerous. You could die...I can't risk losing you. Last time was my fault as well. I couldn't do that to you again." His chest heaved.

She grabbed a small bottle off her nightstand and pressed it into his palm with a small smile. "Sedatives. If I feel the pain coming, I take one. The heart rate slows down with sleep, reducing blood pressure and therefore bleeding." In reality, she had no idea if it would work or not. They might not even work fast enough.

Fletcher was looking at the small bottle clutched in his hand. Stephanie wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, head tilted back to see his face. She could feel him breathing, deciding. Finally he exhaled, but before he could finalize, Stephanie interjected.

"Look, Fletcher. Ever since l can remember, I've been studious. Pristine. Boring. But I'm feeling different tonight, and just for once in my memory, indulge me. I don't want to be that girl who does nothing with her life. I want to live on the edge tonight. I _need_ to."

Fletcher's ocean eyes met hers. She could see the scales tipping in her favor.

Stephanie rested her hands on his chest alongside his shirt collar. His warmth seeped through the fabric. Before either of them could think any further, she slipped her hands down and hooked a finger into the front of Fletcher's jeans. He hissed from between clenched teeth. "Stephanie, this is a bad idea -"

She brushed her fingers tantalizingly along the zipper of his jeans.

Fletcher's head rocked back against the wall and he moaned.

Stephanie stroked the bulge beneath the dark material, applying more pressure this time.

"Not...fair," Fletcher groaned.

Stephanie grinned.

His hands shot out and pulled her close, now his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands burning across her bare skin. She responded with passion.

Fletcher ran his hot, moist lips down her neck, instantly reversing the sensation with his breath, showing her the feeling of fire and ice. His fingers grazed her thighs and she melted against him. As her mind roiled, Fletcher gently grasped the zipper on the bag on her dress and pulled it down the length of her back.

She moved backwards and let the dress slip to the floor. She looked up at Fletcher.

He exhaled shakily. "You are the most perfect creature I've ever laid eyes upon."

This time, it was he who moved to her, allowing her to unbutton his shirt, hands drifting across her bra to softly push the straps from her shoulders.

Kicking off his shoes, he laid her on the bed and straddled her.

"Fletcher?" His eyes instantly filled with concern, but she shook her head. "Not that. It's just...I don't even know if I'm a virgin or not." She ducked her head in shame.

He pressed a long kiss to her forehead. "You're not."

"How do you -"

He slid a finger under her bra and she stopped thinking; reverted only to feeling. He traced lines on her silky skin, drawing gasps and the occasional moan as he undid the strap and kissed her bare skin. Soon, his lips started to move down her ribs, across her stomach and down and down and...

"Wait." She sat up. "I think you still need to lose a few layers."

They grinned at each other.

Stephanie ran a fingernail across his chest. His eyes took on a hooded look as she fingered the button and then the zipper, forcing him to stand as she pulled them off completely.

"Screw my plan," she whispered, and dragged off his boxers as well.

Fletcher groaned at her touch. "Damnit, Steph." He guided her panties down her legs and pulled her in close.

Voices in the hallway woke Stephanie from her slumber. For a moment of utter free fall panic, her mind turned to her parents before she remembered they were on holiday. She rolled over to look for Fletcher, but he wasn't there anymore. A quick glance at the clock told her it was 3:37 AM. Stephanie frowned.

Moving quietly, she slipped out of bed, grabbing Fletcher's shirt from the ground and pulling it around herself. Silently she crept to the doorway and pressed her eye to the crack.  
Straining her vision, she could just see Fletcher's back, illuminated by the vague lighting. He was shirtless, clad only in his dark jeans.

Stephanie couldn't make out the other figure within the darkness of the corridor.

The person said something in a hushed voice. Though she couldn't make out what was said, the voice was distinctly male, low but silky. Whatever the words had been, they were having an effect on Fletcher. Stephanie could see the muscles in his back tensing in anger. She pressed her ear to the doorframe, feeling guilty, scared, and exhilarated at the same time.

"What do you mean, irresponsible behavior," came Fletcher's tight, quiet voice.

"It's dead, Fletcher. What's between you and her didn't work the first time. It's not going to work now. So any time you feel like it, you can stop sleeping with her."

Stephanie jerked at that. Were they talking about her?_ Didn't work the first time?_

Fletcher's voice was a vitriolic hiss. "You know_ nothing_ about us."

"I'm Valkyrie's mentor. I've known her since she was twelve. There are many things you have no idea about regarding the lovely Miss Cain."

_That name. Again. What the hell was going on here? Who was she?_ Stephanie craned her neck, searching for a glimpse of the man whose shadow loomed large and distorted on the opposite wall. The floor creaked loudly as her weight shifted. Stephanie froze. _Damn, damn, damn..._  
Fletcher glanced quickly back over his shoulder. Stephanie didn't dare to breathe. For a long moment, it seemed her heart stilled. Then he turned away from her position again. She breathed out nervously.

"Leave," muttered Fletcher.

"On my way out. By the way, thought you might want to know. Stephanie and I've started dating." His velvety voice oozed an auditory smirk.

Stephanie jumped again at the sound of her name. _Not talking about me._

Fletcher stood very still. "You did_ what?_" His voice had risen just above a whisper now.

"I said -"

"You BASTARD! Her reflection? After everything you did to her? It's your fault she's like this now! You were fucking driving! It's not even a real person!"

Their voices were well towards the shouting level now.

"She's human. She's Valkyrie without -"

"Without the humanity! She's a walking shell!"

"I know a lot of things about Valkyrie you don't."

"Bull! Stop saying that. You don't even care! You don't give a damn about her. Get out of this house. Right now. You make me sick."

"Have fun with your amnesiac girlfriend, won't you?"

"Get. The fuck. Out of here."

There was a glossy laugh and Fletcher lunged at the figure. Gloved hands grabbed him and tossed him and Fletcher crashed against the wall beside the door behind which Stephanie hid.  
As the tap of receding footsteps faded, Stephanie stood, frozen and shaking with rage and helplessness. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Fletcher groaned and moved to get up and she cursed herself for being a coward.

She retreated to the bed and silently crawled back under the covers, shedding his shirt on her way.

Fletcher opened the bedroom door and limped in, faint light transforming him to a silver-lined silhouette.

"Fletch?"

"Stephanie." He climbed over her carefully, then drew her into an embrace.

The combination of his cold hands and her bare flesh drew a gasp from her lips.

He withdrew sharply. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "I forgot."

Stephanie grabbed his hands and replaced them on her skin. "That I was naked?"

"Um...yeah."

She grinned.

He sighed softly and snuggled in closer underneath the blankets.

"Fletcher..."

"Yeah?" She could hear the trepidation in his words.

She decided to push it off until later. "Nothing. I had a weird dream."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nah, it's fine."

His fingers walked a circle around her belly button. "Can I..."

"Oh please."

His hand gently drifted lower and she stretched her neck in ecstasy.

* * *

_**Another element is added...**_

_**Hope you enjoyed! Please review, PM me, follow, favorite, etcetera.**_


	7. Snow of Spring

_Thank you to everyone and anyone who replied. So much _

* * *

"Toss me some clothes, will you, Fletch?" Stephanie called from inside the bathroom, towelling off her hair. Dropping the towel to the floor, she stretched luxuriously, listening to him opening and shutting drawers outside.

The door handle turned and she gasped, snatching up the towel from the ground to cover herself.

Fletcher raised a wry eyebrow. "Not like I haven't seen everything."

"Fletcher Renn!"

He turned, laughing softly to himself. "I'm going to grab my clothes from downstairs. Should I put the kettle on?"

"Yes, do, posh sir," she snickered. He mimicked flipping his hair and then left, tossing her a quick grin over his bare shoulder.

Stephanie chuckled softly as she pulled on the big sweater and leggings Fletcher had selected, then ran a brush through her hair and twisted it up onto her head. She pulled on socks and boots. As she bent to grab her phone, her eyes alighted upon the open box of condoms. Stephanie blushed, then immediately had to laugh at her reaction._ Grow up, girl. After all that was nothing to regret; it was pretty nice...actually try mind-blowing._

"And also, quit with the third-person inner monologue," she whispered out loud.

Fletcher was standing at the kitchen table when she got downstairs, pouring tea, back to her. Stephanie pulled him into a hug from behind, resting her chin on the shoulder of his fresh shirt.

"Sugar?"

"Two please."

"I know you mean three."

Stephanie smirked and took the mug he held out to her, giving him a quick peck on the lips. He pulled her closer, nibbling on her bottom lip, and she melted. Fletcher twisted away and sauntered to the fruit bowl and grabbed an orange.

"What are you so weird for?" Stephanie teased. He pulled a face and lobbed the orange at her. She shrieked, somehow managing to set her tea down, and then caught the orange with her left hand.

"What the -"

He burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Sorry. Your face. Precious." He barely managed to contain another bout of giggled.

"Why did you chuck a bloody great _orange_ at me?"

"Reflexes." Fletcher wiggled his eyebrows. Stephanie rolled her eyes.

"You're such a..."

"Yeah?"

"Such a..."

He kissed her again, running his fingers through her hair.

"Such a good kisser," she gasped. He threw his head back and howled until his face was red. Stephanie bumped him with her hip and went to drink her tea.

Fletcher eventually calmed down enough to come sit by her. As they sipped their drinks in companiable proximity, he softly said her name.

She looked up.

"Are you angry with me for last night - for what we did together?" His brow was creased and his eyes a serious deep blue.

"What? No, why would I be?"

"I dunno. I just wanted to be sure that I didn't hurt you in any way or make you do something you didn't want to." He looked away. She brought his gaze back to hers with a hand on his cheek.

"I regret nothing. That was the best night of my life, and I'm not about to forget it. Ever."

Stephanie watched him blink as her words sunk in. A little wave of relief washed over his face, and the color of his eyes seemed to visibly lighten. He smiled.

"Do you ever get the feeling that you don't ever look at things closely enough?" she sighed.

"What do you mean?"

She studied the angle of his brow to his nose, the way his earlobe connected to his jaw, the shadows beneath his bone structure. "There's a freckle at the corner of your lips that I never saw before." She brushed it softly with a finger. "You're so flawless, even so close up."

He leaned into her hand. "I feel like I've looked closely at you. To draw for me is to see."

"Can I see? This sketches from class?" Stephanie whispered, excitement creeping into her voice. Fletcher's color rose a little in his cheeks. "Please don't think I'm crazy. I just...have quite a few."

She smiled as he reached into his bag and drew out a leather-bound notebook. Taking his hand, she led him to the sofa and sat down more comfortably. As she opened the notebook, the sheer number of sketches dawned on her. Many were just small, rough ones, capturing the moment, but many too were detailed, fine, and utterly, chillingly beautiful. His skill shocked her. As she slowly turned the creamy pages, Fletcher stroked her hair, watching her reactions.

Stephanie saw herself tapping a pencil on her chin, laughing, raising an eyebrow and scratching away at an essay. Each sketch carried with it a life that seemed to bring it off the page, to move and speak and inhale and exhale. A study of her lips in profile, barely touched by a slender set of fingers stopped her. "Fletch, these are amazing," she breathed. "Are those you fingers?" He nodded.

She continued reverently turning pages.

The last study was of her, lying on her side, eyes closed. The wreckage of a car was spread out around her. A dark stain shadowed the concrete by her skull.

Her heart lurched. Fletcher sat up abruptly, closing the book with force. He got up and replaced it in his bag, and she sat stock still._ It had been so disturbingly realistic._

A hand touched her shoulder. "Stephanie...I'm so sorry -"

She shook her head. "It was...well drawn. I'm glad I saw it." She heard him sigh and turned to face him. "I mean it. Don't feel bad."

Fletcher ran a hand down the side of her face, softly and gently. "Okay," he whispered.

"So what's the plan for today?" Stephanie asked, forcing a little brightness into her voice. In truth, she was haunted by the image, but she didn't want to ruin this day. "It's stunning outside," she continued. "Walk with me?"

Fletcher nodded and smiled, but his eyes were far away.

* * *

Their intertwined hands swung slightly as Stephanie and Fletcher walked through the quiet mid-morning. A few early spring blossoms clung to the branches of the trees lining the walkway of the silent town. A soft breeze lifted the stray hairs off Stephanie's neck as she watched her boots tapping the cobbled sidewalk. Poetic words drifted across her mind, forming into random shapes, creating stanzas with a life of their own.

"Hrm?"

She looked up.

"You were whispering."

Stephanie blushed. "I wasn't aware of that. Sorry."

Fletcher squeezed her fingers. "Oh, come on. Don't leave me hanging."

She laughed as he winked, but he stopped and swung her to face him, taking both of her hands in his.

"Composing poetry."

"Can I hear?" His eyelashes seemed impossibly long in the golden light. Stephanie breathed in, taking in the pale cherry blossoms drifting from the tree arching over their heads.

"_In a snow of_  
_Spring to alight in summer_  
_The seasons blur_  
_Into seconds spent with you._  
_If I'm losing me,_  
_So be it,_  
_For to drown in an ocean of you_  
_Would be to breathe in time itself,_  
_Ensnared as I am,_  
_A fool caught in_  
_A wind of the stars._  
_So in this enclave of atmosphere _

_Let me breathe in the scent of_  
_Cherry blossom breaths -_"

Fletcher grabbed her and hugged her, so tightly that it almost hurt. She could feel his ribs heaving against her own, his breathing unsteady in her ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when he finally released her. "That was beautiful."

Stephanie looked down. "Thanks," she mumbled. He slung an arm around her shoulders and carried on walking, cuddling her in close, not speaking.

The wind picked up a little, making her nose and ears turn red. They took another turn and started down a path crossing the park. A patch of daisies waved off to the left, and with a peck on his cheek, Stephanie veered away from Fletcher.

She crouched, picking a handful and breathing in their sweet smell, tossing a smile back at Fletcher standing watching her from the path. She straightened up, and headed back to him, a broad grin creasing her features. "Flowers, darling?" she teased.

Fletcher's eyes locked on something over her shoulder. His shoulders tightened. "Drop them, Stephanie."

Stephanie smiled in confusion. Surely he was joking.

Fletcher looked at her, and she could see something roiling in his eyes. "I said, drop them!" He snatched her wrist and her hand sprang open. The daisies fell, landing sprawled and wilted on the gravel.

"What was that for?" Stephanie demanded. Fletcher ignored her and pulled her hand towards him, flat out and facing upwards.

"Shit," he murmured under his breath.

Stephanie tried to pull away, but he held on, whipping his head up to glance at something behind her again, and then bent closer to study her palm. A slight shadow seemed to have appeared beneath her skin, but other than that there was nothing.

"Fletch -"

"Do you see that? Something twisting, glimmering, over there? Like a rope, almost?"

Stephanie turned, yanking her hand back. Yes, she could see something, like a mirage almost, stretching from the patch of flowers, up the hill and disappearing over the rise. "Yes, I do. What does it matter?"

Fletcher cursed again. "We need to go. Now."

"What's going on, Fletcher?"

He ignored her and turned, began striding off deeper into the woods.  
Stephanie didn't move.

When Fletcher realised she wasn't following, he turned back to face her. "Stephanie. Now."

"No. You aren't telling me something."

"Now is not a good time, Steph."

She felt a wave of anger rising. "_No._ I need to know some things. How did you know I wasn't a virgin?"

"Stephanie..."

She stomped her foot. "Answer me, Renn."

Fletcher glanced at something behind her and a look of panic rose in his eyes. Stephanie swung around to look. Two people had appeared at the top of the hill.

She whirled back to face Fletcher. "You know what, I don't even care who's watching. You're pissing me off. You don't tell me anything. Why don't you ever talk about your parents? Heck, I don't even know where you live. And how did you know what the car accident looked like?" Stephanie was yelling by now. "And who the hell showed up at my house at three in the morning that you were talking too?"

"Shh." Fletcher's eyes were wide, and he tried to catch her arm but she jerked back.

"And who the _fuck_ is Valkyrie Cain?" she shouted.

Something shot past her head, so close she felt the rush of wind, and collided with a tree to her right, exploding. Stephanie was flung off her feet. She crashed to the concrete, rolling, ears ringing as the wind was knocked from her. In her peripheral vision, Stephanie glimpsed the two figures from before sprinting down the incline towards her. Then Fletcher was on his knees by her side, shouting something in slow motion that she couldn't hear. The raging fire behind him that had been the old oak shot everything through with a sinister orange light. The world tilted as Fletcher pulled her to her feet, and then sound came rushing back.

"We have to go _now_!" he yelled, grabbing her hand and taking off. Stephanie glanced back as she sprinted, catching a split-second glimpse of the two men. One had seemed to have darkness, a kind of moving, solid, matte and cloudy shadow, sharply outlining him. The other had been _holding_ –

"Fire!" she shrieked as another ball of flame screamed over their heads and exploded against an overhanging branch. A cloud of burning cinders descended on them as Stephanie and Fletcher sprinted underneath.

"Not...possible..." she hissed. "This isn't...no." A sob slipped from between her tightly clenched teeth.

With Fletcher in front, grasping her fingers, they burst from the burning woods into the main street. "Run, Steph, don't stop," gasped Fletcher. She clenched her fists and put on an extra boost of speed, streaking across the concrete.  
As she glanced back again, lungs burning and gasping for breath, Stephanie saw the pair emerging onto the street. The man with the shadows knelt down.

She flung her gaze back forwards, focused on running, but a sudden sharp pain ignited in her right hand. A pattern of lines, in black, where the stems of the daisies had lain, laced her skin. She screamed as the lines, now stretching up onto her wrist, reared up, and then tore completely free of her skin. The road buckled and rose up beneath her, asphalt crumpling as a shadow struck it, and she fell, rolling, feeling blood from her torn hand misting her face. Fletcher cried out, thrown high in the air.

"Fletch..." Stephanie wheezed. He stretched out a hand to her and she barely grazed his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes meeting hers. The world disappeared and everything went white for a moment.

And then she was lying on her kitchen floor, fingers still barely touching Fletcher's.

He scrambled up and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her to lean against the sink. _Her_ sink. In _her_ kitchen.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she moaned softly and rested her forehead on the cool steel of the tap. "W-what just happened?" The force of everything caught up to her and her legs collapsed beneath her.

"Stephanie. Keys. Where are your car keys?" Fletcher took her face in his hands.

"I...island." Her body seemed to have gone on autopilot as she pointed. Fletcher snatched the keys off the counter and whirled back to face her. "Oh, hell," he murmured softly. "Your hand."

She looked down. Blood from the hanging flaps and pulpy mess that had been the skin of her hand dripped onto the tiles of the kitchen floor.

He dove to his knees and dragged a first aid kit from a bottom cabinet, then pulled open another drawer and grabbed a wad of cash from it.

"What's going on?" said Stephanie quietly.

"We need to leave. Please trust me. I promise you will know everything but right now the...people from before...are coming for us."

He held open the garage door and mechanically, Stephanie stepped through.

* * *

**_I'm back! Still breathing! _**

**_So anyways...hrm. Tell me what you think _**


	8. World Weary

As they screeched out of the driveway and into the road, the tremors began. Stephanie's hands began to shake, softly at first, then harder, and it spread up her arms and down the rest of her. She shook so hard her vision blurred and it was hard to breathe.

Fletcher wrenched on the wheel and pushed the car into first gear, then second and third as they accelerated out of the neighborhood.

"Seatbelt, Steph," he muttered. Her village, the streets that she had come to call home so soon after arriving, blurred by outside the windows. Her breath came in gasps.

Fletcher screeched around another corner, and Stephanie smacked her head on the window.

"Buckle up," he repeated more forcefully.

"The people," Stephanie whispered. "There should be more people. Where are they all?"

Fletcher floored the gas pedal and shifted up yet another gear. "There's the first aid kit on the seat behind you. You have to stop the bleeding from your hand."

"The people...something's not right," she whimpered. A tear swelled in the corner of her eye.  
They were on the main road now, nearly out. Fletcher was saying her name, trying to get her to listen, but the thundering of her own heart was blotting out everything else.

And then there was movement on the road ahead. A man. A swirl of shadows, lethal, sharp, ebbing and flowing with a life of their own. Another figure, by his side, flickering orange in his palms.

Fletcher swore viciously. Stephanie bunched her left fist into her mouth, trying to stop herself from screaming. He accelerated. A desperate sob wrenched free from her.

Fletcher grasped her wrist, his other hand on the steering wheel. With a gut-wrenching sensation, everything disappeared and reappeared fifty meters closer.

Stephanie stared at of the look of abject horror on the man with the fire in his hands as the front of the car slammed into his core. She watched his neck break as his face bounced off the hood, heard the crunch of breaking bones and felt the lurch of the Subaru as he passed beneath their wheels.

And then she was screaming and couldn't stop, couldn't look away from the mist of red on the windscreen. Beside her, tears streaked down Fletcher's face as he gritted his teeth and sped away.

Slowly, many minutes later, Stephanie managed to catch her breath and get control of herself. They slowed on the side of the road and came to a stop.

Stephanie was the first to move. She threw open the car door, stumbled out, and threw up in the grass.

Behind her, she heard Fletcher's door open and close. His footsteps crunched on gravel, and as he reached front of the car, she could hear him running then retching. "Oh, god, what have I done," he moaned.

Stephanie stood up slowly and walked to him. He looked up at her from where he was crouched. She held out her good hand to him and helped him up. "We're still alive, Fletcher." Stephanie could feel him shaking as they held each other, clinging to one another like a drowning man to a life preserver.

A soft rain started, greying away the green and blue hues and making it all the color of wet tarmac. Fletcher finally drew back to look at her, and she couldn't tell if it was tears or raindrops now that misted his face.

"Shit," he inhaled quietly, looking at her. "Your nose..."

Stephanie brought her hand to her upper lip. It came away with a thin line of red.

"Sedatives," muttered Fletcher as he flung open the back door and snatched up the first aid kit. He sat her down on the bench seat in the back, facing him, and unzipped the bag, searching.  
Stephanie's head was beginning to ache. The rain had picked up, and the smell of ozone permeated everything. Fletcher's soaked hair clung to his forehead as he dug through the kit. "Outside pocket," Stephanie murmured, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the headrest. A slight prick flared inside her elbow, and quickly, a heaviness began to come over her. Through the fog, she sensed more than heard Fletcher talking to her as he cleaned and bandaged her hand, then supporting her head as he lay her down and buckled the seatbelts across her body.

* * *

_Let me go._

She tossed and turned, trying to break free. Something was holding on to her, pressing her down and she couldn't move.

_LET ME GO._

With a strangled cry, Stephanie wrenched herself up to her elbows, wide eyes roving in panic.

_In the back seat of a car._

_Men with fire in their hands._

_Disappearing and reappearing._

She fumbled desperately for the seatbelts holding her down and unbuckled herself, lurching upright and clenching the head rests of the seats in front of her. Her breathing hitched and wheezed as she tried to control her hyperventilation. "Breathe, Steph, breathe," she murmured to herself, letting her head slump.

A few minutes later, once she was back in control, Stephanie finally calmed down enough to analyze the situation.

This was _her_ car.

Why was she...oh, that's right. She shut down the thought before it could cause another panic attack and focused.

She was at a gas station, stopped. A few people hustled by outside her window.

Another thought struck her with gale force: where was Fletcher?

The car doors unlocked simultaneously and Stephanie jumped and clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress a shriek. Fletcher ducked into the car. His face instantly broke into a wide smile.

"Oh my god, Fletcher. I practically had a heart attack."

He laughed, setting a bag on the passenger seat, and grasped her hand to lightly kiss her.

"I'm sorry," he smiled, "We just needed some gas and I grabbed some food and stuff."

Stephanie clambered into the front seat, transferring the bag to her lap.

"There are some clothes in there for you, considering yours are a little...conspicuous."

She looked down at herself. Cinders had burnt holes through her sweater, and rips and dirt were spread all across her. One side of her was caked with dried blood, dark and woven into the woolen fibers. Stephanie's bandaged hand throbbed as it returned to her attention, and she gasped slightly.

"You ok?" Fletcher whispered, voice concerned and caring. "Apparently your idea about sedatives worked, hey?" She nodded once and reached into the bag, then suddenly stopped.

"Fletcher. The-the car. The blood. The man."

A look of guilt and sorrow came across his face, but he shook his head. "I checked. The rain washed it clean." Fletcher turned away from her, buckling on his seatbelt and pulling out of the gas station. Stephanie forced down her nausea and began searching out the clothes from the plastic bag as they accelerated onto the highway.

"I'm going to get changed," she murmured to Fletcher and carefully maneuvered over the gearshift to the back seat again. He nodded his head slightly.

Wincing as she cradled her wounded hand, and feeling every muscle in her body scream, Stephanie slowly drew her sweater over her head. Fletcher's eyes met hers through the inside mirror. It hadn't even occurred to her, but the desire shone darkly in his eyes as he watched her.

"Watch the road, Fletch," she said softly. A crooked smile crossed his features.

"Sorry," he chuckled, sneaking another glance at her. Stephanie rolled her eyes and with a groan, pulled on the long sleeve shirt from the bag. Quickly, she stripped off her leggings and tugged on the black fleece sweatpants, awkwardly and painfully lifting her hips off the seat. She rolled up her discarded clothes and shoved them under the chair, then pressed a kiss to Fletcher's neck, rubbing his shoulders. He exhaled slowly.

After making her way back to the passenger seat, Stephanie rested her head on the window glass.

"Where are we going?" she said softly.

"Holyhead. Then Dublin. Taking a ferry across."

"Why?"

"Where do you think you're from?"

"But why?"

"I don't think I'm the right person to explain this to you. But when we get there, you'll learn."

Stephanie breathed out, watching her breath fog then dissipate on the window.

"What about Becky and Tom?"

"They're safe."

"How do you know that? Anything could have happened, they could have gone back, they could have –"

"Steph. They're fine. I know where they are."

"What - how?"

Fletcher took his hand off the wheel and rubbed it over his face. Stephanie could see the dark rings under his eyes. "In half an hour there'll be a picnic stop and then we can maybe clean ourselves up a bit and I can look at your hand. How's that feeling by the way?"

Stephanie slammed her hand down on the dashboard. "Stop trying to distract me. Answer the question."

He fixed his eyes on the road ahead grimly, worry lines appearing on his forehead. "I...I know them. Knew them. Before. We're meeting them in Ireland."

"We're _what_?! And_ before what_? Becky and-"

"Those aren't their names."

Stephanie opened and closed her mouth. "Not their names?" A sardonic laugh burst from her lips. "What, are they like secret agents or something?"

Fletcher didn't laugh. Stephanie paled. "Oh, dear lord, I thought you were joking."

His hands clenched on the wheel and he said nothing.

"Wait...so then why are they fostering me? What is going on? Are my real parents even _dead_?"

Fletcher's eyes remained fixed on the road but his lips quivered and she could see him struggling.

"Fletcher!" Stephanie stared at him, feeling tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Everything she knew, her whole world, it was all starting to collapse around her. She could feel the seams tearing.

"Stephanie... I'm not the right one to explain this. My trying to explain this would cause you more harm then good. I - I couldn't hurt you like that."

"What do you think you're doing now," she cried.

Fletcher moved to try to touch her hand, but she shifted away. "I haven't even asked the important questions like what the fuck was your little destroying-space-time thing?" Her voice cracked on the last syllable into a pathetic whimper.

"I can't...I - I'm sorry," he whispered, tortured.

"What do you want?" She changed appeals abruptly. "You want me? I saw the look in your eyes. Tell me. I'll sleep with you."

She grasped his hand and tugged it to her breast, simultaneously grabbing his thigh. Fletcher gasped and the car shot forwards, and he withdrew as if burnt.

"I would never, never -"

"What, sleep with me? Sorry, looks like it's a little too late for that," she said venomously.

"No, I would never degrade sex with you. I would never degrade _you._ I care too much." Fletcher's dark eyes sought out hers.

She looked away, anger forming tears that streamed down her face. She hated herself for crying like this, for being weak when she needed to be strong.

"Stephanie, please."

"Please what!" she cried. "How can you leave me like this? How can you destroy everything I thought I knew and then refuse me even the basic right of knowing _anything_? A relationship is supposed to be mutual, Fletcher. We're supposed to care. You're hurting me. You're not caring."

He braked abruptly and swung to the right, off the highway and down a small road. Dark, towering pine trees rose up on either side of them. The noise of the highway dropped away as Fletcher turned left into a dirt parking lot. The car rocked as the bumpy ground passed beneath their wheels.

They were in a clearing, a vivid, green, open space. Every blade of grass, every tiny flower, every bird softly singing seemed refreshed and vibrant, awakened by the drizzle that had just ended. It was beautiful.

Stephanie ducked her head. She didn't need beautiful right now. She needed true.

Fletcher leaned his head back against headrest and breathed out, closing his eyes. Finally, he looked at her. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

She bit her lip to hold back a sharp retort.

"One question. Anything. I promise."

Stephanie snorted. "Yeah. And what's that going to cost me? 200 quid? My right thumb?" She climbed out of the car and slammed her door.

Fletcher followed her out his own side. "No," he said softly, catching her hand. "Just a kiss."

Slowly, he drew her in to him, wrapping his arms around her until their noses nearly touched. Stephanie lowered her gaze, feeling her anger drain away to be replaced with a sense of tiredness. She rested her arms around his neck, pulling even closer until she couldn't feel where her body ended and his began. His breath warmed her lips. Stephanie closed her eyes, trying and failing to think.

"How long have you known me for?" she breathed, scarcely audible.

"Since you were fourteen," he murmured back.

So before the accident. Stephanie felt nothing. It explained a lot, she figured. Beyond that, she was just...not ready to think.

"Let's practice avoidance," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

Fletcher twisted his fingers deep into her hair and held the pieces of her together with his firm touch.

* * *

_Tell me how you thought that went..._


	9. Voices

Her hands moved between their bodies; his back braced against the car; his occasional noise the only thing to break the silence of the scene.

Fletcher's eyes tried to find and focus on hers but he pitched forwards into her, his fast breathing hot against her skin. His hands clenched at the back of her shirt.

In the moment he found his release, groaning deeply in her ear, Stephanie realized that it had fixed nothing between them.

She released him and pushed him off her, stepping away. His head lolled. Stephanie allowed herself to let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Fletcher had already done up his jeans again, and he caught her hand in his, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. His masculine smell enveloped her, a musky combination of sex, sweat, and cologne. He opened his mouth to speak, but Stephanie interrupted.

"I'm going to wash my hands," she mumbled vaguely, then turned and began striding away. As the gravel crushed under her feet, and then gave way to grass that brushed softly against her calves, Stephanie ached with confusion. The heat that smoldered between her legs with each step, and the way that her blood pulsed low in her belly told her the obvious: she_ wanted_ Fletcher, and badly too. Stephanie knew that if she turned around, his beauty would taunt her. Yet at the same time, he had lied to her. The deception continued even now. But did he really have a choice? _Of course he did,_ she chided herself. _But I can't trust him, at least not yet...not anymore._

She swung open the door of the small, decrepit brick building and squinted to make out the dark interior. As her eyes adjusted slowly, the glint of light off stainless steel fixtures. The slightly rusted tap squeaked as she turned it, and icy water began gushing from it. Stephanie splashed a cupped handful on her face to wash away the pink flush high in her cheeks.

Her reflection in the mirror looked haunted and emaciated. Eyes, large and dark, shadowed in by the strange light, gazed back at her. These weren't the same eyes of yesterday - they were older than seventeen, more haunted, more shifty. They had seen more that could not be unseen.

Stephanie groaned and kicked the base of the tiled wall to clear her mind of such thoughts. Dust notes swirled from the rapid movements.

Her head swirled with sudden dizziness and she sat down heavily. The musty, nostalgic smell that she had just raised brought sensations so intense that Stephanie found herself confused and disoriented.

_What was that? A memory?_

It felt like it belonged to someone else.

She leaned her head against the icy wall.

"I want an identity. I want to know who I am and what I'm doing." Her voice echoed softly across the dust particles, the white tiles, the harsh stainless steel. "Was I always me? Is this me?"

_No one is listening._ "I'm talking to an empty room, for God's sake." _You're so weak now, aren't you?_

She clamped her hands over her ears and drew her knees to her chest, biting her lips so tightly that the sour tang of blood filled her mouth. A cold, mocking voice echoed dully within her head.

_Oh come on. I mean, remember that conversation last night you overheard. Sounded a little like there's somebody else here, involved with Fletcher. _

_He doesn't want _you. _He wants sex with you._

The voice sounded like her own. Stephanie felt her fingers trembling and twitching, out of her control.

_It's obvious, isn't it? Come on, you know this. You're not that stupid._

_Let me help you._

"Shut up," she whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

_Come on, you -_

She couldn't hold in her turmoil anymore. Stephanie screamed, unable to hold back the shriek that tore from her, followed by another, more drawn out.

Fletcher's footsteps pounded outside and the door to the deserted bathroom was flung open. He was crouching down in front of her now, reaching out, repeating her name over and over, but she was rocking and crying and screaming and the torrent that had gotten free wasn't ready to stop yet.  
Eventually her voice cracked and faded away. She remained still, clutching her knees and breathing hard.

Fletcher rubbed a hand across his face.

"Steph...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for putting you through this. I'm sorry that I can't tell you everything. I'm sorry that you feel like you don't know me and that I lied to you." He shut his eyes.

Stephanie could see the dark shadows beneath them. The voice had fallen silent, as if muffled by Fletcher's nearness. "I don't know. I just...don't know anything," she breathed hoarsely, knitting her fingers together and drawing her knees closer to her body. "I'm just lost."

Fletcher looked down and away.

"Who am I, Fletch? Why don't I even know the space inside my own head?"

"You...you're -"

"It's fine. I know you don't know."

"Wait -"

Stephanie stood up, testing weak knees, and brushed herself off. "I'm sorry too. Something's wrong with me. I just lost control. It won't happen again."

Fletcher reached for her hand. She flinched and drew back. Shocked at her own reaction, she turned away.

"Stephanie!"

Fletcher's hand closed around her wrist. "Look, Steph. I'm not an idiot. I know physical intimacy didn't fix anything." She could see the hurt in his eyes. "But baby, you can tell me anything. Or nothing. You choose. I'm always going to be here, even if you don't need me. I'm not going anywhere."

With a little gasp, Stephanie threw herself into his arms, squeezing so tightly she heard a breath leave his lungs, but he clutched her just as tightly, and they stood that way, feeling the sun warming their backs. The iciness in her brain melted back to its own dark corner.

"I'm just lost in the labyrinth of my own skull," she murmured into his shoulder. He rubbed her back softly.

"You're kind of a mess," he whispered softly. Stephanie laughed quietly. If only he knew. Schizophrenia was great at making her a mess, obviously.

"Come on," Fletcher said finally, taking her by her good hand and leading her out of the doorway back towards their car and the picnic table. He sat her down at the table, and she perched on top of it with her feet on the seat. Pulling out the first aid kit, he carefully laid out a few supplies.

"Ready?"

Stephanie nodded, shrugging, and held out her bandaged hand. Fletcher took it in both of his and snipped away the cloth wrapping her palm and wrist. It fell away, revealing the extensive damage. She had to look away, hearing Fletcher's intake of breath. "Ok," he said softly to himself, then looked up at her. She met his eyes. "This is going to hurt."

Stephanie nodded again. He pressed a small, waxy green leaf into her uninjured fingers. "You can chew this to control the pain, but we have limited supplies, ok?" He pushed back his sleeves and drew in a breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing paste from a tube onto his hands. His fingers made contact with her torn skin.

Stephanie gasped. Fletcher withdrew sharply. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, go ahead." She swallowed. It wasn't the pain that had shocked her: as soon as it had ramped up, before she could really register it, something had cut it off. Yet the leaf was still clenched in her other hand, untouched.

As he began again, she felt nothing.

_You're welcome._

She started. "Go away."

"Sorry," whispered Fletcher.

"Not you," she murmured back. _Me._ Who? Herself. Apparently. Move on, stay strong.

Fletcher was already finishing, re-wrapping her palm with fresh gauze, and she had felt none of it, pain strangely smothered.

"Might I return the favor?" she mocked. He grinned half-heartedly, but helped her down and sat where she had just been. "There's a scratch along my back," he mumbled, drawing his shirt off over his head.

She sighed. "Just a scratch? Understatement will be the death of you." A half-inch-deep gouge raked across his pale shoulder blades. Fletcher went to shrug but winced and stopped.

Running on memory of what he had done for her, Stephanie tried to gently apply the cream to the injury. He hissed through clenched teeth. "No- keep going- I'm fine," he managed. She continued more cautiously, but he swore under his breath and she could feel the tension of his body beneath her fingers. "How did this not hurt you?" he growled.

_Shh._

She said nothing but moved in front of him, softly opening his mouth with one finger and laying the leaf she had no need for on his tongue and following it with a chaste kiss. Moving quickly, Stephanie taped his injury, passed him his shirt, and swept everything back into the first aid kid. "I'll drive."

"But you're injured- "

"I'll be fine to shift gears with my other hand."

"But you don't know where- "

"I have a mobile phone with GPS and road signs. You have to sleep, and we need to get a move on."

Fletcher accepted defeat.

"Hey Fletch," she ventured as she opened the driver's side door, "do we need to be worried about the...man with...darkness?"

His eyes were focused, far away, towards the outside and the shadows from the lengthening sun.

"Fletcher?"

He seemed to visibly shake himself and wake. "No." But his eyes never met hers.

As he leaned back his chair and shut his eyes, Stephanie backed out of the quiet, deserted rest stop and turned onto the motorway.

_Just you and me for a while, eh?_

Stephanie shook her head to clear it and accelerated cautiously.

* * *

Holyhead ferry port was quietly busy at the hour they finally arrived. Fletcher and Stephanie passed through customs without event as the sun meandered below the horizon, yet only once they were within the belly of the ship did he relax slightly. They exited and locked the car behind them, the bitter scent of petrol and the clamor of engine machinery following the pair up the steel stairs to the passenger decks.

Stephanie clung to Fletcher's arm as the functional machinery opened up into more aesthetic scenery and they entered a crowd of the other passengers. Her breath hitched in her chest._ It all seems so normal to them. _As a noisy tangle of teens passed by, she winced. Her head hurt from holding up a barrier constantly.

Fletcher detached himself to buy coffees after settling her in a deserted seat in a corner. "I'll be back soon," he murmured, seeing the panic starting in her eyes. If he went, what would happen? He quickly kissed her. "You'll be okay."

She fixed her gaze harbor and on the rising stars. Everything was silent. Stephanie relaxed slightly.

_Why does nothing seem different when it all has changed?_

When Fletcher returned, he found her slumped, asleep already. She didn't fully wake again as he helped her back to their car as when they arrived in Dublin, nor when they disembarked. Only after slowing to a stop beyond the silent country lanes did she wake:

"We're here."

* * *

**_Sorry for the long wait to update, yeahh business. So uhm thanks for reading and please tell me what you think? (:_**


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